Tales of Men and Ghosts eBook

Draper, with the last question, squared himself in
front of Millner, as if suspecting that the latter
meant to evade it by flight. But Millner had
never felt more disposed to stand his ground than at
that moment.

“No—­by Jove, no! It’s
not that.” His relief almost escaped
him in a cry, as he lifted his head to give back Draper’s
look.

“On your honour?” the other passionately
pressed him.

“Oh, on anybody’s you like—­on
yours!” Millner could hardly restrain
a laugh of relief. It was vertiginous to find
himself spared, after all, the need of an altruistic
lie: he perceived that they were the kind he
least liked.

Draper took a deep breath. “You don’t—­Millner,
a lot depends on this—­you don’t really
think my father has any ulterior motive?”

“I think he has none but his horror of seeing
you go straight to perdition!”

They looked at each other again, and Draper’s
tension was suddenly relieved by a free boyish laugh.
“It’s his convictions—­it’s
just his funny old convictions?”

“It’s that, and nothing else on earth!”

Draper turned back to the arm-chair he had left, and
let his narrow figure sink down into it as into a
bath. Then he looked over at Millner with a smile.
“I can see that I’ve been worrying him
horribly. So he really thinks I’m on the
road to perdition? Of course you can fancy what
a sick minute I had when I thought it might be this
other reason—­the damnable insinuation in
this letter.” Draper crumpled the paper
in his hand, and leaned forward to toss it into the
coals of the grate. “I ought to have known
better, of course. I ought to have remembered
that, as you say, my father can’t conceive how
conduct may be independent of creed. That’s
where I was stupid—­and rather base.
But that letter made me dizzy—­I couldn’t
think. Even now I can’t very clearly.
I’m not sure what my convictions require
of me: they seem to me so much less to be considered
than his! When I’ve done half the good to
people that he has, it will be time enough to begin
attacking their beliefs. Meanwhile—­meanwhile
I can’t touch his. ...” Draper leaned
forward, stretching his lank arms along his knees.
His face was as clear as a spring sky. “I
won’t touch them, Millner—­Go
and tell him so. ...”

V

In the study a half hour later Mr. Spence, watch in
hand, was doling out his minutes again. The peril
conjured, he had recovered his dominion over time.
He turned his commanding eye-glasses on Millner.

“It’s all settled, then? Tell Draper
I’m sorry not to see him again to-night—­but
I’m to speak at the dinner of the Legal Relief
Association, and I’m due there in five minutes.
You and he dine alone here, I suppose? Tell him
I appreciate what he’s done. Some day he’ll
see that to leave the world better than we find it
is the best we can hope to do. (You’ve finished
the notes for the Investigator? Be sure you
don’t forget that phrase.) Well, good evening:
that’s all, I think.”